


Driving Outside the Law

by libertarian_firelord



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (Though that doesn't mean much, Cool Cars, Dystopian Future, F/M, Fluff, I take inspiration from unusual sources, One Shot, Yeeaahh, Zutara meets prog rock, don't mind me, since there are only three characters)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libertarian_firelord/pseuds/libertarian_firelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zuko drives a Ferrari.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving Outside the Law

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song “Red Barchetta” by Rush, from their 1981 album, Moving Pictures. The song was in turn inspired by the short story A Nice Morning Drive, written by Richard S. Foster and published in the Nov. 1973 issue of Road and Track Magazine (pp. 148-150). 
> 
> In which Zuko drives a Ferrari. The question is how to make a love story out of a song like “Red Barchetta.” Because that’s the normal reaction to a dystopian future prog-rock song—write a Zutara about it, right? To be honest, I just wanted an excuse to put Zuko in a Ferrari (Zurrari? Ferrarko? I don’t know. I’m dead inside). Despite how it looks, I promise Katara does show up eventually. It wouldn’t be much of a Zutara without her, would it?
> 
> As ever, I didn't create the characters, nor the show they're from. I also did not create the song "Red Barchetta" (I can barely play the song, so there's no WAY I could have written it).

\---

     As the morning sun peeked over the Eastern horizon on a clear, cool day, Zuko walked up to the small farmhouse with his chest heaving, hands on his head, and a dull sheen of sweat coating his brow. Before he could even climb the steps and knock on the door, though, his uncle walked out on to the porch.

     “Ah, nephew, I’m glad you made it safely—but why are you out of breath?”

     “Had—to run—from the turbo tracks,” he said in between gasps of air. “I thought—I’d been seen—waited too late to jump the train—close to the border—didn’t want to risk The Eyes catching me.”

     “Ah. A wise decision. Let me get you some water.” Iroh walked back into the house. _What does Uncle want with me this early in the morning all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?_ As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, he flopped back into one of the old chairs on Iroh’s porch, not caring about how dusty the cushions must be, or how his trench coat was now likely coated in said dust. His fall off the moving turbine freighter had already done a fair number on the garment.

     “I take it you weren’t seen leaving The City?” questioned Iroh as he returned and handed Zuko the water. Zuko shook his head and elaborated.

     “I’ve been working on the turbine freights for years, Uncle. I know how to hop one without being seen. Besides, anybody who saw me walk into the yard today probably just thought I was going to work.”

     “Good,” replied Iroh, “because what we’re, or rather, you’re doing today, we don’t want people to know about. Come with me,” he added at his nephew’s puzzled look. Zuko hastily gulped down the last of the water and followed his uncle off the porch and around the back of the farmhouse to the small attached garage.

     “Uncle, where are we going?” Iroh fixed his nephew with an even gaze.

     “We’re going to the garage.” That got Zuko’s attention.

     “But when we were kids—Azula, Lu Ten, and I, I mean—I thought you said we were never to know what was in there?”

     “I told you that then—and to be honest, I was surprised none of you kids ever tried to sneak a peek after I warned you off so seriously,” he said, a nostalgic grin breaking over his face briefly before turning serious again, “but now, I think it is time someone knew about it. I’m growing old, whether we like it or not, and with Lu Ten gone, and your sister being, well, your sister,” Zuko nodded knowingly at this, “that leaves you to carry on this part of my legacy.”

     “Part of your legacy? What part of your legacy?”

     “This,” Iroh dramatically said as he threw the doors of the garage open—or at least, it would have been dramatic, had one door not caught on a rock halfway and then promptly fallen off its rusted hinges. “Oops,” Iroh chuckled as he picked up the fallen door and leaned it against the side of the building. “I knew I should have replaced those hinges.”

     Zuko silently suffered his uncle’s strange flair for the dramatic, and then curiously peered into the garage, wanting to know what his uncle had hidden from the world for so long.

     “So my part in your legacy is a pile of dusty old rubbish? I’m honored, Uncle,” he said sardonically.

     “Ahhh, but Zuko: does not even the dustiest geode hide beautiful crystals?”

     “So I assume you’re referring not to this pile of debris, but what’s underneath?” Iroh merely smiled knowingly and began to remove scrap metal and wood from the pile. Zuko joined him, and slowly a new shape appeared, covered by a tarp.

     “Help me remove the tarp. Start up at the front.” Not knowing what Iroh meant by that, Zuko followed him towards the door of the garage, and then, one on each side of the covered object, they carefully rolled the tarp back. Zuko gasped as a deep red convertible sports car was revealed.

     “Uncle, is that what I think it is?”

     “Yes—my old car. A 1961 Ferrari 250GT California.”

     “But it must run on gasoline. Isn’t that illegal?” Asked a wide-eyed Zuko.

     “I acquired it many years ago, before the Motor Law. Then, when the Anti-Gasoline Act was passed, I tucked it away up here, where the government would never find it.”

     “Does it still run? And where do you get the gas for it?”

     Iroh grinned mischievously, “Never mind about the gas. Yes, I keep it running. And that brings us to why we’re here, Nephew. Because of your hobby of racing air-cars—and your numerous successes thereat—you are going to drive it.”

     “Me? Wha—no! That’s the last thing I need: to be caught breaking the law in an archaic machine!”

     Iroh cringed at this unkind reference to his baby. “Zuko, we are miles from civilization. The roads up here are perfect, since there’s nobody around to use them! Laws are only broken if you get caught—and you won’t get caught. Come Zuko, live a little! Take her out for a spin. The mountain roads are particularly beautiful this time of year, and very fun in a car as small and lithe as this one.”

     Zuko thought about his uncle’s words. Sure, they were pretty isolated up here. And the mountain roads that Uncle had suggested were sure to be even more deserted. He looked back at the 70+-year-old machine, and sighed gently. The racing driver in him wanted very badly to take this historic machine out on the open roads, but were he caught? Zuko shuddered at the thought—he knew how stiff the penalties were for breaking the Motor Law.

     As he looked closer, considering his uncle’s offer, the car seemed to call out to him. The stance and styling of the car spoke of speed, like a racehorse, waiting at the start line of a racetrack. The leather seats looked well worn, and very comfortable. Before he knew what he was doing, he had shrugged off his dirty trench coat, opened the door, and slotted himself into the driver’s seat (which was as comfortable as it looked). He gripped the wooden steering wheel and shift knob. They were missing patches of finish, and both spoke to him of past adventures on the road, and of even more to come. The instruments sat in the dashboard, their redlines not so much limitations, as objectives. The dissenting part of him quietly folded in the face of such temptation.

     “All right Uncle, you win,” Zuko said, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. “Give me the keys. Now—how do I drive this thing?” Iroh handed Zuko the keys, and a pair of brown leather driving gloves.

     “It’s fairly simple; you’ll get the hang of it quickly. The design of modern air-cars comes from these older designs, so all the controls are in basically their same places. Only instead of air pressure, you have revs: similar in principle, but…”

     Zuko listened impatiently as his uncle explained the rest of the controls and dials. After Iroh finished, he put the key in the ignition, and turned. The mighty Italian V12 roared to life.

\---

     Feathering the gas gently, Zuko rolled the classic Ferrari out of Iroh’s garage, the engine growling quietly beneath the hood. He stopped a few yards outside the garage door, checked the temperature gauges, and saw the car was warming up nicely.

     “You have a full tank of gas. I recommend the Summit Highway: it zigzags up one side of the mountain, runs along the top for a ways, then zigzags back down the other side. It’s perfect in a car like this. Now go out and really drive for a while—have fun!” encouraged Iroh.

     “You don’t need to tell me twice,” said Zuko, as he pulled away down the long driveway down to the main road. He waved once to his uncle, who was rapidly shrinking in the rearview mirror.

     Upon reaching the flat asphalt of the road, Zuko slowed the Ferrari down, pointed the car’s elegant nose towards the mountains, and flattened the gas pedal. The car took off down the narrow, straight road. The engine growl rose to the crescendo of an Italian opera, before the change to second gear. Zuko watched the speed climb: 30 mph, 40, 50, into third as the engine reached its operatic redline again, then 60, 70, before decelerating for a fork in the road.

     With a satisfying “click-clack,” he dropped the transmission back into second, and nudged the nose through the sweeping turn that made the right fork. Without lifting his foot from the gas through the turn, he accelerated and began his climb to the top of the mountain.

     The ascent was quite steep, and so the only way for the road to make it to the top was through a series of 180-degree switchback turns. It zigzagged its way up the mount like garland on a Christmas tree. _All the hairpin turns on this road oughta be fun,_ Zuko thought as he tore towards the first one. _Although, I’ve never driven this car before—maybe I should take the first few a bit slower_. He downshifted into second, and as the car decelerated, he was struck with the sickening image of him and the car careening over the edge. _Yeah, I’m definitely taking these first few turns slower; I gotta get a feel for this thing_.

     As he climbed higher and higher up the side of the mountain, though, his racing driver’s instincts took over, and he began to take the corners faster and faster. The Ferrari was performing well, eagerly diving into the turns right where Zuko pointed it, then accelerating away from the apex. It seemed to take on life of its own, merely guided by its skilled driver. They settled into an easy rhythm, man and machine approaching their limits in perfect harmony.

     The convertible’s top was down, allowing the crisp mountain air to blow through his jet-black hair, whipping it straight back when he accelerated. The sunlight glinted off the Ferrari’s chrome trim brightly, but not blindingly so. The road marking lines were nothing more than a mere blur under the Ferrari’s tires. Zuko could just barely smell the engine’s hot oil mingled with the scent of grass of the high alpine pastures. He felt a grin break over his face. _This is perfect, he thought_.

     After rounding the last hairpin at the top of the mountain, Zuko saw the road stretch out before him, running right along the spine of the ridgeline, with only a few gentle curves to it. A welcome respite after all those tight, slow corners. _Time to see what you can do through some faster sections of road,_ he thought to the car as they shot off down the ridge road. Their speed never dipping below 50 miles per hour, Zuko and the Ferrari raced onwards, Zuko threading the nimble car with a racer’s precision through the odd chicanes formed by the shape of the ridgeline.

\---

     Eventually, Zuko decided to take a break. He pulled off to the shoulder of the road, just at the top of the other set of hairpin turns leading down the other side of the mountain, just as Uncle said it would. He got out to stretch his legs.

     “I think I need a smoke after an experience like that.” Zuko lit up the cigarette and looked out over the countryside as he took a long drag. “I’d offer you one, too but I know you don’t smoke,” he smirked at the car. “At least, not normally.”

     Beyond the mountain he had just scaled, miles of drab farmland and prairie stretched as far to the south, east, and west as he could see. A thin black line bisected this dreary panorama from east to west. _That must be the tracks where the turbine freights run._ _Funny, I’ve made that run plenty of times, but I’ve never thought about the possibility of what’s in these mountains—certainly not such a perfect driving road_. Away on the western face of the mountain, he saw the road he had raced up. And just there, barely visible a few miles from the base of the mountain, thousands of feet below him, was a tiny farmhouse with an even smaller garage attached.

 _You were right, Uncle—as usual. I take back what I said earlier, I would be honored to carry on this legacy_. Taking another drag on the cigarette, he stepped back to admire the machine in which he had made his madcap ascent. Seeing it in the darkness of the garage had been one thing, but here, atop this mountain in the mid-morning sun, the Ferrari 250GT California was truly a thing of beauty. Zuko ran his eyes over the car’s gentle, almost feminine curves, mesmerized by the grace under which was hidden such power, such potency. Like a beautiful master assassin, wrapped in a flattering crimson dress, with chrome jewelry, he thought, noting the trim, spoked wheels, and prancing horse motif on the radiator grill, all of which shone in the sun.

 _Yes, she’s a classy lady indeed_ , he thought as he finished his cigarette. He extinguished it underfoot, kicked the crumpled butt into the gravel by the roadside, and looked at the car.

     “Shall we dance again, my lovely?” Zuko asked. The car of course, didn’t respond. As he walked back towards the Italian beauty, he looked down the other side of the mountain, and saw a narrow river flowing southward next to the base of the mountain. Parallel to this river ran a single ribbon of black that connected to the zigzag road down the mountain. “That’s the road that will take me back to Uncle’s farm, albeit in a roundabout way. But hey,” he winked at the car, “anything to spend more time with you.”

     Just before he turned the keys in the ignition, he heard a whooshing sound from behind him. He turned to look, and a stone of dread landed squarely in his stomach. A government-spec Air Car was cruising along the road, straight towards him.

\---

 _Shit_ , he thought, _how’d I let him sneak up on me like that? I should have heard his motor coming up those switchbacks long ago!_ A burst of panic coursed through his veins and he fumbled with the key for a few seconds before finally getting the car started again. Wasting no time, he slammed the gear lever into first, and smashed the gas pedal.

     The rear tires spat gravel behind them for a few agonizing seconds, before finding real traction. When the tires bit down on the asphalt proper, the car raced forward with a renewed sense of urgency. She wanted to escape as much as Zuko did. He checked his mirror as he sped towards the road down the side of the mountain. Though he was really moving now, the Air Car was still gaining on him. _Hopefully, I can lose him in the curves down the mountain. He can accelerate in a straight line much faster than I can, but he’s almost twice as wide as I am, which means he’ll have to be much slower in the corners_.

     But as soon as he turned into the first hairpin corner on this side of the mountain, that feeling of dread was back. _Damn. This side of the mountain isn’t as steep, so there are longer straightaways and fewer corners. He may yet catch me_.

     Going down the mountain turned out to be an entirely different game than going up. Thanks to help from gravity, the Ferrari’s acceleration was much greater. On one particularly tricky left hairpin, he turned in too sharply, and the rear wheels lost traction. Cursing fluidly as he felt the whole car begin to slide sideways and his control slipping away, Zuko yanked the wheel back to the right, into the drift, hoping to straighten out the car before he lost control completely.

     For a brief moment, as his tires screamed from the friction of the skid, Zuko caught sight of the Air Car on the switchback above his. Its alloy body didn’t gleam in a beautiful manner, like the chrome on the Ferrari; rather, it glinted menacingly. Zuko gulped. He did _not_ want to get caught. Not today, not ever.

     With a jerk, the car straightened out onto the longest switchback yet.

     “Don’t do that to me again, girl,” he said ruefully, though he knew the fault was his. “That drift killed my speed”—he glanced down at the speedometer. “Shit!” He floored it again. _Only 20. I’ve got a lot to make up for!_

     And so the chase continued in a futile pattern: the Air Car would almost catch up to the Ferrari when Zuko slowed for the tight bends, but he would regain the distance as the Air Car slowed to a crawl to lumber around the corners itself. Then it would get out onto the straightaway, and accelerate back towards the Ferrari.

     Finally, the road flattened out at the bottom of the hill. Zuko dropped the Ferrari down into second, and drove like his life depended on it—which it did. Checking his mirror again, he saw the Air Car rounding the final hairpin. _I don’t have much time now. I need to think of something—anything!_ He scanned the road ahead of him, searching for a way out of his predicament. The speedometer rose into the triple digits, and eventually Zuko ran out of gears. Meanwhile, behind him, the Air Car grew ever closer.

     Suddenly he saw his salvation about a half a mile ahead. From the top of the mountain, he hadn’t noticed that the road crossed the river, by means of a narrow, one-lane stone bridge. _Ah hah! That bridge!_ The bridge in question had been built before the Motor Law, and so was too narrow for the Air Car to cross it. _I’ve got to time my deceleration for this just right—too late, and I won’t make the turn and end up in the river. Too early, and the Air Car will just rear-end me—they can take much more damage than I can. It all comes down to this_ , he thought grimly as he checked his mirror for the Air Car one last time. It was still gaining on him.

     His left foot hovered over the clutch pedal, and his right foot remained firmly planted on the gas. He prepared to flatten the clutch and switch his right foot to the brake pedal. _Wait for it…aaaaand…NOW! Clutch, brakes, stick in neutral!_ The sudden deceleration threw him against his seatbelt. At the right moment, sensing he had judged it correctly, he let off the brake pedal and the Ferrari rolled across the bridge under its own momentum. He was about to drive on, when a squeaking signaled the hatch atop the government vehicle beginning to open.

\---

     Rolling off the bridge, he stopped the car and turned curiously towards the silver machine. _Well, this could be interesting. Why don’t I sit here and see what he has to say? Not like he can chase me, except on foot. But a running man vs. a Ferrari? C’mon_. Just as he finished this thought, a young woman emerged from the top of the alloy vehicle.

     Even though there were 20 yards between them, he could see her mouth drawn in a thin scowl, her ocean-blue eyes flashing with rage. Despite these facts, Zuko noticed, she was still beautiful. He could only imagine what she looked like with her hair down from that utilitarian, state-approved bun she wore now. _Turns out running man was a running woman. And an attractive one at that. Why must all the hot ones be government employees?_ She opened her mouth to speak, but Zuko, cocky from his near miss, beat her to the punch.

     “Normally when a hot lady’s runnin’ after my ass, I let her catch up,” he called across the bridge. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing way out here in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, anyway?”

     “I might ask the same question,” she replied curtly.

     “Oh, so you think I’m pretty? Yeah, most girls do—”

     “The car. Not you, dickwad. Now shut up, you’re under arrest. I find you in violation of the Anti-Gasoline act. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will—”

     “And how exactly do you plan to arrest me? I’m over here; you’re over there. Your Air Car can’t cross that bridge. You could chase me on foot, but, ah, that wouldn’t work out so well for you.” Zuko revved the Ferrari’s V12, just to drive his point home. The blue-eyed officer seethed on her side of the bridge.

     “I could radio for backup. Want me to?”

     “Backup? This far from anywhere? I doubt it. Given how empty this place is, I suspect you’re the only officer for miles. You’re just a tiny cog way out here in the farthest backwater of the governmental machine.”

     The man’s arrogance finally got to her.

     “I’ll—you—I will get you for this, you arrogant little shit!” she yelled back. Zuko flashed her his most winning smile, the one that made most girls’ knees weak. To her credit, she showed no reaction, aside from anger.

     “Oh, but you really won’t.” He mockingly blew her a kiss, and pulled away. “Sayonara, sweetheart!” he called back. Over the Ferrari’s engine, he heard a yell of frustration and the slam of a hatch. Laughing to himself, he drove off at a leisurely pace. “You’ve done well today, girl,” he grinned at the car. “Our first time, and you really took care of me. We’ll take it easy on the way back.”

\---

     With the sun just a little past midway in the sky, and the fuel needle dangerously close to the “E,” Zuko pulled back into his uncle’s driveway. Since the door of the garage hadn’t been replaced, Zuko backed the Ferrari carefully in, and shut the engine off. As he was getting out of the car, his uncle appeared in the door, silhouetted against the midday sun.

     “I trust you had a good drive, Zuko?” he asked.

     “A good drive? Uncle, this car is amazing! I’m honored that you let me drive it!” Iroh smiled, and as they replaced the tarp and scrap atop the car to hide it, Zuko gave his uncle a detailed account of the drive. Iroh’s eyes lit up and a mischievous smirk crossed his face at Zuko’s mention of the angry, blue-eyed government Air Car driver. Though he tried to hide it, Zuko caught his uncle’s brief slip. He decided he would ask Uncle about it later. He was still too thrilled with the amazing machine in the ramshackle garage.

     A few hours later, as the late afternoon shadows grew long, Zuko and his uncle sat on the porch, sharing a pot of Jasmine tea.

     “So what do you think, my nephew? Would you like to bear the responsibility of the Ferrari?”

     “Would I? Would I? Of course! Today was great.”

     “Ahh, but Zuko. It is not always fun. There is more to owning an old car than just driving it around on beautiful days. It is like a pot of tea: sure, it is nice to enjoy it now, but there is always prep work to be done before and after said delicious tea is enjoyed.”

     Zuko quirked an eyebrow at his uncle. “Uncle, did you just compare that Ferrari,” he nodded towards the garage, “to a pot of tea? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” Iroh sat for a moment, contemplating the teapot. Then he burst out laughing.

     “Perhaps it is a bit of a stretch. But speaking of, the tea has run low. Let me go make a new pot.”

     As Iroh walked back into the house, Zuko stretched out his legs and lay back in the comfortable chair. _All in all, I’d say today was a success_ , he mused. _Got to drive a sweet car on a great road in some beautiful scenery and I pissed off a government official to boot. Yeah, today was a good day_. He closed his eyes, and imagined he could still hear the roar of the engine in his ears. It sounded a little off from what he had driven. _Hmmm…yeah, kinda like that. Only, less guttural and more operatic. Why am I hearing such a guttural sound? Unless_ …he snapped his eyes open. He hadn’t imagined the sound at all. Another old, gasoline car was driving up the road and turning in to Uncle’s driveway.

     “Uncle, we have company!” Zuko yelled into the house, “someone in another gasoline car!” Iroh seemed entirely unperturbed by this development when he emerged from the house with a fresh pot of tea, and three cups.

     “I know. Do not trouble yourself.”

     “You know?” Zuko looked worriedly at his uncle. “Wait. Of course you know. You know everything.” He turned back towards the approaching car. It was another convertible, painted a beautiful forest green. It was even curvier than the Ferrari, with a longer, but equally elegant nose. Zuko saw a Jaguar logo on the radiator grill. It rolled to a halt in front of Iroh’s porch and the driver stepped out. _Wow_ , Zuko thought. _She’s just as beautiful as the car_. The driver wore simple leather driving shoes, jeans and a red collared shirt (both of which, Zuko noted with some satisfaction, fit her just right), black leather driving gloves, and mirrored sunglasses. He gazed up and down her frame again. _Well hel-LO to you, gorgeous—_

     “Hey, pretty boy. Eyes up here.”

 _Shit_.

\---

 _Please don’t tell me I just checked out_ …goldish-brown eyes met cerulean as she removed her sunglasses, and Zuko almost died on the spot. _Dammit. It had to be her_.

     “Ahh, my dear Katara. My day is better tenfold, no, a hundredfold, having seen you again today! Though it is evening, to see your smiling countenance is like a second sunrise!” At this, Katara rolled her eyes and laughed. “Won’t you join us for some lovely Jasmine tea?”

     “Yeah, yeah, nice to see you again too, Iroh. And I would love some tea. I need something relaxing after the day I’ve had,” she added, looking pointedly over at Zuko.

     “Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko interrupted. He looked at Iroh, decidedly ignoring the woman climbing up the porch steps, “you know her?” He pointed at Katara, and continued, “She’s the government cog I told you about earlier!”

     “Yes, of course I know her, she’s my source for gasoline.” Zuko’s jaw dropped.

     “What? How does that even work?”

     “Well, it’s like you said this afternoon at the bridge,” replied Katara. “Out here, we’re so far in the middle of nowhere, the government really only has a nominal presence—in this case, me. My superiors hardly ever check up on me: usually less than once a year. I just send in reports saying ‘All’s well,’ and they basically ignore this whole area.”

     “So a slightly corrupt government official takes a post in the middle of nowhere, just to indulge her love of old Jaguars,” Zuko said, gesturing towards the green convertible sitting in front of the house. After a moment, he chuckled, and added, “I like your style—but wait. What about the gas?”

     “I have a source north of the borderline. It gets smuggled down on the turbine freights where I discreetly take possession of it while the train undergoes customs inspections at the border.”

     “But if you’re such an old car fan too, why chase me so vigorously today?”

     “Because I thought you had stolen the California from Iroh—I couldn’t allow that. Had I known you were driving it with his blessing,” she looked at Iroh, who nodded, “I wouldn’t have chased you at all. But I still think you’re an arrogant little shit,” she added. Zuko scratched the back of his neck, and smiled sheepishly.

     “Yeah, ok, I deserved that.”

     She nodded, and the three sat down to enjoy their tea.

     “Just think, if you had been patrolling another mountain today, we never would have met,” said Zuko.

     “Well actually, Iroh’s the one who suggested that mountain path,” said Katara

     “Uncle?” Zuko looked incredulously towards him, “Why would you tell a police officer to patrol right where I’m joyriding an illegal car?!”

     “Oh, did I? Silly me, must have slipped my mind,” he smiled innocently and sipped his tea.

     “Slipped your mind, my ass,” Katara muttered under her breath.

     “What was that?” asked Zuko.

     “Oh, nothing.”

     Iroh grinned even wider.

     They sat for a while, as afternoon became evening, talking about cars and sipping tea. Eventually, Katara got up to leave.

     “It’s getting late, and I’m pretty tired. I think I’m gonna head home. Always a pleasure to see you, Iroh!”

     “Ah, but the pleasure is only mine, my dear,” said Iroh before he turned and took the tea set inside.

     “Well, Zuko, it was nice to finally catch up,” Katara smirked up at him, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks.

     “Uh—y-yeah, you too,” he stammered suddenly, rubbing his neck and looking anywhere but her. “Listen, my behavior today was atrocious, and what I said was unbecoming of me, and—” Katara interrupted his rambling with a gentle hand on his arm.

     “You want to make it up to me?” _Yesyesyes very much yes_. “Come back next week, and we’ll go racing in the mountains together—you in your uncle’s Ferrari vs. me in my E-Type. Deal?”

     “Deal,” he whispered.

     “Good,” she quietly replied. Zuko wondered if he’d agreed to just a friendly race, or something more…

     She turned on her heel and strode out to her waiting Jag. Zuko tried valiantly (and failed) to ignore the way her hips swayed slightly as she walked away from him. _Is it just me, or did they not do that when she walked up to the house…?_ As she pulled on her driving gloves, Katara looked back at him.

     “Sunrise. Here. A week from today. Don’t make me wait, pretty boy.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Zuko smirked, some of his earlier bravado returning to him.

     She winked at him, then tore away down the drive in a cloud of dust and feral noise. For the first time in his life, Zuko felt his knees wobble a little. _Jeez Zuko, you really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you? First the blind one with the geology obsession, then the one with the propensity for throwing knives at you, now this one who races illegal cars_. He grinned at the shrinking Jaguar. _But you wouldn’t have it any other way_.

     In the kitchen, as he cleaned up the day’s dishes, Iroh grinned at the conversation he’d overheard—another brilliant plan, perfectly executed. He began whistling a sappy old love song.

      _End_

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to Amateum for putting up with my eccentricities (cause again, who the HELL writes Zutara fic based on a Rush song?! Sure, some hipster, indie-rock thing, but dystopian future prog rock? Ah, whatever) and editing this anyway. Just as with "Carry Me To My Home," her edits were invaluable, and the story would be much worse without them. So many thanks there.


End file.
